Caught in the Act v2
by Katica Locke
Summary: Finch catches Reese in a compromising position. Dominant!Finch, one-shot.


**Author's Note:** This is _not_ a sequel to _Caught in the Act_. This is a second, unrelated story with the same theme. Personally, I can't really see either character acting this way, but it was fun to write anyway. I may in the future add to these stories if the muses strike, but for now they're just one-shots.

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><p>Making his way down the long hall, Finch let his gaze wander over the spines of his books as he sipped his tea and stretched out the stiff muscles in his bad leg. It was a quiet evening, no numbers, no problems, no Reese, just him, a hot cup of tea, and a good book. While he was making tea downstairs, he had considered retiring to one of his residences for the night, but in all honesty, the library felt more like home than any of the apartments or houses did. His little bedroom in the old administrator's office was warm and friendly; the others felt like they belonged to someone else.<p>

He'd already turned off most of the lights, leaving only a few lamps burning, which he switched off as he made his way through the big building. He'd already turned off his monitors - all except for the one that received the numbers from the Machine - and the main room was nearly dark as he headed down the back hall to his bedroom.

As he drew near, he slowed, a frown creasing his brow. The door was ajar and there was a light on inside - a light he didn't remember turning on. He considered backing away, calling Reese, and waiting for help to come, but on the off chance that he'd simply forgotten that he'd already turned on the light, he hesitated, reaching out and silently pushing the door open.

The mug of tea slipped from his hand and hit the cement floor, but that barely registered. All he could do was stare, his jaw slack, as Reese stared back at him, his skin flushed, his shirt unbuttoned, his slacks undone, holding a white dress shirt up to his face as he masturbated. He just stood there, cock in hand and a look of undisguised horror on his face.

"Mr. Reese? What the hell- Is that _my_ shirt?"

Reese swallowed hard, loud enough for Finch to hear from across the room. "Finch, I- I...I thought you had left for the night..."

"Oh," Finch said, the shock starting to wear off. "And that makes it okay for you to use my clothing for your own sexual gratification?"

"You're right; I'm sorry. I'll go," Reese said, dropping the shirt and trying to tuck his erection back into his pants as he headed for the door, his shoes crunching through shards of broken porcelain.

Finch blocked the doorway. "I didn't say you could leave, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "You made me spill my tea and break my favorite mug. Now finish."

Reese stared at him, his eyes wide. "What did you say?"

"Finish what you started." Finch stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "Pick up my shirt and resume touching yourself."

"No," Reese said, looking appalled. "Finch, that's-"

"Do it or you're fired," Finch said, his voice level and quiet. "Not only fired, but I'll close all your accounts and send all the information I have on you to Carter, the CIA, the NSA, Elias, the cartels - everyone you've ever crossed will know exactly who you are."

"Because I made you break your cup?" Reese asked. "I'll get you a new one."

"What you've done, Mr. Reese, is upset my plans for the evening. Now finish, or find somewhere to hide that I can't find you. Antarctica, maybe."

Reese glanced around the room, but Finch had deliberately chosen one without windows. There were plenty of objects that could have doubled as weapons, but then, if Reese wanted to hurt him, it wouldn't have taken more than Reese's fists. He looked trapped, desperate, despairing. Finally, he walked back over to the fallen shirt, his steps shaky. Casting a last pleading look at Finch, he picked it up and shoved the front of his briefs down, releasing his hard cock. As he began to stroke it, Finch limped closer, making Reese shift uncomfortably as Finch gave his cock a long, hard look. After a moment, he turned his attention to the shirt.

"Didn't I wear that yesterday?" Finch asked, glancing at the open garment bag in the corner where he put his dirty clothes. Reese didn't answer, but he didn't need to. It was. "Why take the shirt? I've heard of people with a fetish for underwear, even socks, but a shirt? Not exactly the most erotic article of clothing." This time, he wanted an answer, and he stared at Reese until he got one.

"It...smells like you," Reese whispered, his words strained.

Finch masked his surprise, keeping his face expressionless, even as Reese's words made him unexpectedly hard. "Is that so? Well, aren't you full of surprises." He glanced down at Reese's cock. "Are you done yet?"

"Al-almost," Reese gasped, pumping himself harder.

"Good," Finch said, reaching up and removing his tie. "You'll pardon me if I start getting ready for bed while you finish up. It's been a long day." He slipped out of his jacket, then unbuttoned his waistcoat, Reese's skin flushing, his gasps becoming harsh and ragged. Finch shrugged out of the vest and began unbuttoning his shirt, watching Reese's gaze move down his chest with every button undone. "Do you want to fuck me?" Finch whispered and Reese stiffened, a strangled cry escaping him as he came hard, his whole body shaking.

As Reese stood panting and trembling, Finch looked down at the mess on the floor. "Now look at what you've done," he said, drawing Reese's attention to the white splatters on Finch's shoes.

"I- I'll clean it up," Reese said.

Finch was tempted to see if he could make Reese lick his shoes clean, but spit probably wasn't any better for the leather than semen. "No, you'll take off your pants and lie down on the bed," Finch said, kicking off his shoes. He picked them up and used his handkerchief to wipe off the splatters, then glanced over to find Reese still standing there, staring at him. "I hear Antarctica is nice this time of year," Finch said.

Reese turned, removing his own shoes before slipping out of his trousers.

"Briefs and socks, too," Finch said, waiting until he had obeyed before adding, "Face down, legs spread, one foot against each bedpost."

"Finch- Harold, _please_," Reese said. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"You're damn right about that," Finch said, unbuckling his belt. "Now lie down."

Reese hung his head and climbed onto the bed. It was only a twin, but with his feet against the posts, it left his ass very exposed and vulnerable. Finch let his trousers drop, one hand lightly stroking his hard-on through his boxers as he walked toward the bed. From out of the nightstand, he retrieved a bottle of personal lubricant. Reese squeezed his eyes shut, his big hands gripping the edge of the mattress until his knuckles turned white as he realized what was about to happen.

Without further preamble, Finch popped the cap off the bottle and drizzled the thick, cold gel into Reese's crack, making him draw a startled breath. Every muscle in his body tensed and for a moment, Finch thought he was going to jump up and make a run for it.

"Relax, Mr. Reese," Finch said, his touch gentle as he smeared the lube across Reese's tight opening. "I won't fuck you unless you quit resisting. I'm not going to rape you; I want you to willingly pay for what you've done."

"I- I don't know if I can," Reese replied, but his grip on the bed did ease. Finch stroked slippery fingers back and forth over Reese's entrance, rubbing in circles and applying a gentle, insistent pressure until Reese finally surrendered with a long, low groan. With another squirt of lubricant, Finch eased one, two, and three fingers into Reese's hot body, making him pant and squirm, his cock growing hard again as it rubbed against the comforter.

Finch's own cock ached and he quickly stripped off his boxers and climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Reese's legs as he slicked his shaft with lube. Leaning over Reese, Finch guided the head to his opening, pressing against that tight ring of muscle, stretching him as he slid in. Suddenly, Reese drew a sharp breath, his body tensing.

"Harold, please - I can't. It's too much," he said.

"You can, and you will," Finch said, but he stopped to give Reese a moment to adjust. "I want you to take a deep breath and push back against me. I'm not going to move - you are. You're going to take me as deep as you can. Don't stop until you feel my balls against your ass."

"Harold..." Reese whispered, drawing several short, shuddering breaths before sucking in a great gulp of air and raising his hips. Finch forced himself to remain still, letting Reese ease back against him at his own speed until they were joined.

"That's it, that's it," Finch murmured, one hand stroking the small of Reese's back. "Now back down, lie flat." He let Reese pull away, waiting until he had almost slipped out before sinking deep again, drawing a strangled cry from the man beneath him. "Do you like this?" Finch asked, rocking his hips. The movement made his injury ache, but damn if it wasn't worth it. "Do you like having my cock in your ass, Mr. Reese?"

"Yes. Harold, yes," Reese groaned. "Fuck me."

"I don't know," Finch said, continuing to torment him with small, unsatisfying thrusts. "What sort of lesson will you learn if you enjoy it? Maybe I should stop."

"No, don't stop," Reese begged. "I learned my lesson, I swear. I won't do it again."

"Well, all right, then," Finch said and he began to thrust deep and hard, ignoring the pain his hip as Reese moaned beneath him, bucking and writhing. Finch leaned down, biting and sucking from one shoulder to the other, leaving a string of dark marks on Reese's skin. He could feel himself getting close, but he held back as Reese grew tense, his moans taking on a desperate sound.

"Don't do it," Finch whispered in his ear. "I don't want come on my bed any more than I wanted it on my shoes."

"Harold, please..."

"Don't do it," Finch said again and Reese drew a breath that shuddered through him, resuming his white-knuckled grip on the mattress. Finch pounded into him, Reese's body growing tighter as he struggled against himself, and it was Finch who broke first, a breathless shout echoing in the small room as his hips jerked, filling Reese with his seed. His heart pounding, he pulled out and climbed off the bed.

"Up; hands and knees," he ordered and Reese obeyed, still gasping and trembling. Finch ran his hand over the comforter, finding a damp smear of pre-come on the blanket, but he ignored it. "Well done, Mr. Reese," he said. "I bet that was quite difficult, especially with your cock rubbing against the bed. You must be incredibly sensitive right now." He raised his hand from the bed and ran his fingers over the head of Reese's cock. Reese arched, trying to pull away, but Finch followed, rolling the slippery tip between his fingers and thumb.

"Harold!" Reese shouted, a hint of panic in his voice. Finch stopped and stepped back.

"Turn over," he said. "On your back."

As Reese lay down, Finch wrapped his hand around Reese's quivering cock, rewarding him with fast, firm strokes. Reese moaned, lifting his hips off the bed, and Finch bent down, taking the head into his mouth. With a strangled shout, Reese came hard. Finch swallowed, sucking and stroking until Reese collapsed, his whole body shaking as he gasped for breath. As Finch straightened up, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then stepped closer to the head of the bed and leaned down, running his fingers back through Reese's hair as he stared down into his unfocused blue eyes.

"Stay out of my laundry, Mr. Reese," he said softly. "If you want to smell me while you get off, you had better be fucking me. Got it?"

"Got it, Finch," Reese said, reaching up and cradling the back of Finch's neck as he drew him down for a slow, deep kiss.


End file.
